


Trompe L'oeil

by AnaliseGrey



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Begging, Captivity, Concussions, Gen, Mind Games, Panic Attacks, Whump, ultimatum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:14:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: “Champion.”The voice is low, gravelly, and hazy recognition stabs through Shiro’s gut and up into his chest, his pulse starting to race. He knows that voice. Heknowsthat voice, where does he know that voice from-?“I see you haven’t forgotten me, then.”Shiro looks up, and oh-oh no.That’swhere he knows it from.





	Trompe L'oeil

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ["If You Need Me" VLD Whump zine](http://vldwhumpzine.tumblr.com/).

Everything is a jumble of noise and light, then darkness and nothing.

Shiro wakes and immediately wishes he hadn’t. His head throbs, his sense of equilibrium is shot, and for a while all he can do is lay there with his eyes closed, grasping weakly at whatever he’s lying on. The world is spinning, and if that weren’t enough, the roiling nausea and debilitating headache only confirm his suspicions. He tries to remember how he hit his head, but his thoughts slide away like water off an oiled surface.

He clenches his hands into fists and forces himself up onto his hands and knees; the world still spins, even with his eyes closed, and god, he really hates concussions. He breathes through the nausea, through the feeling his skull is going to split like an overripe cantaloupe, and cracks his eyes open.

He doesn’t remember what he’d been doing before this, but he’s pretty sure there was no fight. He doesn’t remember any of the emotions he equates with a battle, no scream of adrenaline, so he’s having a difficult time figuring out how he ended up in a cell in only his undersuit.

“Champion.”

The voice is low, gravelly, and hazy recognition stabs through Shiro’s gut and up into his chest, his pulse starting to race. He knows that voice. He _knows_ that voice, where does he know that voice from-?

“I see you haven’t forgotten me, then.”

Shiro looks up, and oh- _oh no_.

 _That’s_ where he knows it from.

Sense memory floods him, memories of chill, of pain, shouting, the smell of the Arena and the holding cells, and he thinks he might be sick.

Cahrun, one of the trainers from the Arena, looms at the barred door to the cell. More recent events start to trickle back, going to a planet for negotiations, for technology. They were supposed to meet with the Crevadi, but Allura was delayed. There was something with a shuttle, then nothing.

“What?”

“I know I’m large for my species, but I am Crevadi as well. When I heard you were coming, I could hardly give up the chance to get you back.”

Shiro staggers to his feet, fighting the urge to lay down and pass out again. He moves to the bars of the cell, glaring. “You realize that I’m going to fight you every inch of the way.”

Cahrun smiles, and it sends a chill down Shiro’s spine. “Of course you will. I would expect no less from someone like you. That’s why I have gone through the trouble of obtaining leverage.” He gestures to someone Shiro can’t see. “If you please.”

Allura’s voice floods the room.

“No! No, Shiro, _please_!”

Oh gods.

The blood drains from his face and as much as he wants to keep his expression neutral, Shiro can tell by Cahrun’s growing smile that he hasn’t succeeded.

“What do you want?”

“Just your cooperation. You responded very well to training last time, and I see no reason why you wouldn’t do just as well, if not better, now. You will once again be Champion of the Arena, and I will be the one to get you there.”

Shiro fights down the near-overwhelming panic Cahrun’s words induce. “What happens if I refuse?”

“Well, then I suppose the Princess becomes my new project instead of you.”

For a second, Shiro can’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears; it’s a toss up whether it’s the concussion or the thought of Allura suffering the way he has that’s making him nauseous. He can’t let that happen. He _won’t._

“What do I have to do?”

“Nothing you haven’t done before. In the meantime-” Cahrun pulls something from a pocket, and Shiro flinches, scrambling to the back of the cell as if it would keep him safe.

“Oh come now, it’s not that bad, is it?” Cahrun slides the glove onto his hand and opens the cell door, striding toward Shiro. The Arenas had healing technology, much like the Altean pods, but there wasn’t always time or inclination to stick someone in a pod and wait. The Galra had made use of gloves which could fix smaller issues on the spot, with the patient still conscious. Having an injury quickly healed was all well and good, but there was a price to be paid.

Shiro’s back hits a wall, his breathing shallow, the racing of his heart pounding through his skull. Cahrun advances on him, reaches his gloved hand for Shiro’s head, and if he weren’t so overwhelmed by what he knows is coming, he’d be ashamed of the whine that makes it past his lips.

Cahrun’s hand closes over Shiro’s head, the glove activating, and Shiro screams as his world goes white. Shiro’s senses start to return to him a moment later- the coolness of the floor under his cheek, the scent of recycled air, the dull pound of a headache.

“There, that should do it.” Shiro is barely aware of something being pulled back from his head. Cahrun has left the cell, closing and locking the door behind him. “Rest well, Champion. Tomorrow we restart your training.”

Cahrun’s footsteps fade away, and he lets his head drop back to the floor. He reminds himself why he’s doing this; for Allura, to keep the Princess safe. He remembers bits and pieces of what the ‘training’ was like before, but even those make him shudder. He’s survived it once; he can do it again. He’d rather die than let Cahrun do any of that to Allura.

He pillows his head on his arms, closes his eyes, and falls asleep thinking of other ways to keep Cahrun away from Allura.

***

Shiro is jolted out of an uneasy sleep by the blaring of an alarm so loud he feels it in his teeth. He looks confusedly around the small room with the bars on one side, and it floods back to him- waking up with a concussion, Cahrun, Allura’s screams.

What he’s agreed to.

He rubs a hand over his face, pushing up to his feet, and prepares himself for whatever it is Cahrun decides to throw at him. A door opens down the hall, Cahrun’s voice following just before the man himself appears at the cell door.

“Good morning, Champion! Are you ready to begin your training?”

Shiro glowers. “I suppose breakfast is too much to ask first.”

“Now, now, you know that’s something you have to earn.”

Shiro doesn’t know why he thought this would be different somehow, but he’d been hoping. “Fine.” He doesn’t let himself say anything else, knowing it will do nothing but get him in trouble.

Cahrun has a hand on the door, but pauses. “Now, do I need to cuff you for the walk there, or are you going to behave yourself? I don’t think I need to remind you what the consequences of lashing out are.”

Shiro bites down on his response. He’s doing this for Allura, to keep her safe until help arrives. He has to believe help is coming; he’s not letting himself think about what will happen if it isn’t. Instead, he just shakes his head.

“Good boy; you remembered.” Shiro shudders at the pleased purr in Cahrun’s voice, and pointedly doesn’t think about the times he’s heard it before.

Down the hall is a large room. There’s nothing in it, just blank white walls, though one has a window part-way up. This is a training deck, not unlike the Castle’s, and the window is probably an observation deck. A rough shove between his shoulders leaves him stumbling in through the doorway.

“Time to see how much work I have to do to get you back up to par for the Arena. I need to know how much you’ve backslid, because I don’t believe they’ve kept up your training properly, and I need to know what sort of issues I’m dealing with.” Cahrun grins at Shiro, full of teeth. “ _Vrepit sa_ , little Champion. Show me what you can do.” The door slides shut and Shiro is alone in the training room.

He steps in, rolling his shoulders and bouncing in place. He doubts he’ll have long, but wants to try to warm up as much as he can so he’s not going into this cold. A moment later, there’s a whirring sound and another door slides open, a training bot stepping through; it looks to be the same height as he is, and about as broad. Shiro readies himself, activates his hand, and launches himself at the bot.

It isn’t more than a couple of minutes before the training bot is in sparking pieces on the ground, and Shiro is panting above it. He has just long enough to think it wasn’t as bad as it could have been before a loud buzzer blares and the far door opens again, two bots stepping through.

Shiro doesn’t know how long it goes on for, but each time he clears the bots, their numbers increase, and he knows it won’t stop until he goes down. Everything aches, he’s bleeding all over, and his body is reminding him he hasn’t eaten in close to a day, but it doesn’t matter; he can’t stop. Anything less than his best effort might not be enough to keep the princess safe, and he can’t take that chance.

So he fights on.

He gets to seven bots, and the number doesn’t change, but they start coming out armed, carrying staffs that deal a small electric charge on contact. He’s down to the last three of the current group when one of them lands a solid hit on his right arm, the electric shock amplified through the metal, and he can’t stop his strangled scream as he drops to the ground. He rolls out of the way of a staff aimed toward his head and twists, taking the legs out from under one of the bots with his own. He’s on the ground now, prone, and the other two bots are on him before he can react, hitting him over and over again with the staves and it isn’t long before the blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision overtakes him.

He wakes with a start to see Cahrun over him, pulling his gloved hand back.

“You did better than I expected. All the way up to level nine. Perhaps I won’t have as much work to do as I thought.” He takes a step back, gesturing with his hand. “Get up.”

Shiro wants to tell him no, that he can’t, but he knows it isn’t an option. He rolls over and presses up, swaying in place as the room spins around him, then rises unsteadily to his feet.

Shiro makes it most of the way back to his cell before his legs give out and he drops painfully to his knees, panting for breath. Cahrun has healed him enough to get him conscious, but his body is telling him it wasn’t remotely enough.

“I didn’t tell you you could stop.”

Shiro tries to get up again, but his legs won’t hold him and he drops back to the floor.

“I can always go fetch the princess if you’re not up to this.”

Shiro shudders, pushes himself up to his hands and knees again and fights down the humiliated flush warming his ears as he starts crawling forward; he may not be able to stand, but he can keep moving.

There’s a considering noise from Cahrun. “I suppose that’s acceptable, for now.”

He makes it back to his cell, collapsing almost as soon as he’s inside, and tries not to be thankful when Cahrun leaves him alone for awhile. He calls out to Allura a few times, but doesn’t get any answer, and hopes they haven’t done anything to her he doesn’t know about.

The next few days follow a similar pattern.

Cahrun wakes him, takes him to the training room. He’s being tested: how many opponents can he fight at once, how long he can fight without dropping from exhaustion, how long can he fight without food, without water. The list goes on, as do the days, and it’s getting to the point that the only thing keeping him going is the knowledge that if he doesn’t, Allura will be taking his place. He hears her sometimes, calling his name, shouting at Cahrun when he comes to fetch Shiro, and knowing she’s still okay enough to shout warms him, fuels his intent.

The knowledge of what will happen if he doesn’t behave isn’t enough. He’s so tired, tired of being hurt, tired of fighting. Cahrun comes to get him one morning, and Shiro says no.

“No?”

“I-” It’s almost physically painful to ask for a respite, to have to bite the words out, but the idea of having to get up and fight right now is enough to bring Shiro to the brink of tears.

“Are you refusing to do as you’re told?”

“No, no I’m not, I just- I need a break.”

Cahrun opens the cell door and stalks in, is on Shiro before he can back away, grabbing Shiro by the front of his suit and lifting him part-way off the floor. “Do you think your opponents in the Arena will care that you’re tired? That you want to rest? Do you think they’ll have any mercy on you? Perhaps you need to be reminded of what you’re fighting for.” Shiro’s dropped unceremoniously back to the floor as Cahrun gets up and leaves, locking the door behind him, moving in the direction Shiro’s heard Allura’s voice from the past few days.

Shiro’s eyes go wide, horrified as he crowds up against the bars to his cell. “No! I’ll fight! _Cahrun_!”

There’s the sound of a cell door opening, and he can hear the muffled sound of Allura’s voice before the screaming starts.

The sound cuts through Shiro like nothing else has since he woke up here, and oh _gods_ , this is his fault, this is all his fault. He’s the reason Allura is screaming that way, he’s the reason she’s being hurt. Dammit, he was supposed to keep her _safe_. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels the tears hitting his hands where they rest on the bars. He wipes angrily at his face, and cringes when he hears a particularly loud scream from down the hall.

“Cahrun, _please_!”

The screams abruptly stop, though he can still hear quiet sobbing. There’s the sound of the cell door opening and closing again, then footsteps before Cahrun reappears, looking completely unruffled. “Yes?”

“I’ll- I’ll do what you want, just- please.”

A grin splits Cahrun’s face as he leans in towards the bars. “Please what, Champion? I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you’re begging for. I’d be very specific, if I were you.”

“Please-” It takes Shiro a moment, and he has to try to ignore the soft crying he can hear from down the hall. “Please don’t hurt her. Hurt me instead if you have to. I’ll fight, just-” His breath hitches. “Please.”

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Cahrun opens the cell door, forcing Shiro to take a step back, and reaches in to grab Shiro’s arm, pulling him out of the cell. “Let’s go, then.”

The next few hours are the hardest he’s experienced since waking up here. Cahrun isn’t testing anything in particular, is just toying with him, hurting him to make a point. By the time the bots stop coming out of the door in the wall, Shiro’s whole body is awash in pain. Electrical burns from the bots’ staves, bruising, and those are the least of it. His right knee won’t hold weight, giving under him every time he tries, and he thinks his left shoulder might be dislocated. He’s laying sprawled on the floor of the training room when he blinks and suddenly Cahrun is there, looming over him again.

“Perhaps in the future you will remember your place.” Cahrun reaches forward, and Shiro only catches that he’s wearing a glove the second before it makes contact with his shoulder, and then he’s crying out as his shoulder pops back into place and the tendons knit back together. Cahrun pulls his hand back and Shiro has barely a moment to recover before Cahrun’s gloved hand is landing on his knee next, and Shiro’s vision goes dark.

When his vision clears again, he’s being bodily dragged, and they’re in front of his cell before he figures out where he is, his head spinning. Cahrun tosses him through the door, and Shiro grunts as he lands hard on the unforgiving floor, left in a shivering pile.

It’s quiet, no sounds from Allura, and Shiro doesn’t have the energy to call out. He curls in as tight a ball as he can, though it strains his already aching muscles, and he thinks.

He thinks about the situation, his ability to keep Allura safe, to keep withstanding the stress; sometime soon, he’s going to fold against the pressure. He’s going to break. Maybe it’s better to be proactive.

Shiro waits until they’re most of the way to the training room the next day before he addresses Cahrun.

“What do I have to do for you to let her go?”

Cahrun comes to a stop and turns to face Shiro, a contemplative expression on his face. “What would you offer me? I have to say the arrangement I have right now seems to be working quite well already. What reason do I have to change it?”

“I’ll go with you willingly.” Shiro feels partially detached from himself as he says the words, knowing what he’s offering, what it will mean for him. He’d spent most of the night trying to think of a better way, and had come up empty. This is the only way forward he can see.

“Hmm. Willingly. And what does that mean, exactly, Champion?”

Shiro swallows past the lump in his throat. “It means I won’t fight you. I’ll be-” He chokes on the word before he gets it out. “-obedient. Compliant. I won’t try to run, I won’t try to fight you or the other handlers. I’ll do whatever you say.”

Cahrun’s eyes widen in delight, mouth splitting in a grin, and Shiro tries not to notice how many teeth are on display. “Well. That does sweeten things, doesn’t it?” Cahrun steps close into Shiro’s space, and Shiro fights to stay still, to not flinch back when Cahrun grabs his chin in a painful grip, leaning down so he’s right in Shiro’s face.

“Whatever I say, hm?” Cahrun’s voice is a low rumble, and Shiro’s mind stutters; he can’t speak, just nods.

“I need to hear you say it, Champion.” His fingers squeeze, and Shiro winces but forces himself to stay in place, forces the words out.

“Whatever you say.”

Cahrun lets go and steps back, still grinning. “You’ve given me something to think about. I’ll give you my decision at the end of your session. I’d do my utmost to impress today.”

Shiro stumbles into the training room, and as the door closes behind him it doesn’t matter that he didn’t sleep or how much he feels like he’s about to fall apart. He needs to make this count.

He takes apart every bot that comes at him. He’s still up, sweat and blood dripping off him, panting for breath, his hand glowing and active. He’s waiting for another round of bots to come out when the door opens behind him and Cahrun steps in, applauding.

“Well done, Champion. You’ve outdone yourself today; I am duly impressed.”

Shiro faces him, not quite daring to hope, lets the charge on his hand go and waits.

“After some consideration, I’ve decided to take you up on your offer. We’ll leave for the central hub tomorrow. The princess will remain here until I have you successfully transported, and I’ll have one of my servants release her when I send the word.”

Shiro doesn’t know how he’d thought this would work, but dread takes root in his stomach. “How do I know that you’ll follow through?”

“Well, you don’t, do you? I know it won’t mean much to you, but you have my word as a Crevadi that she will take no further harm from me, and will be free of me once I have you secured at the hub. So long as you hold up your end of the bargain, of course.”

Shiro clenches his fists, digs his nails into his left palm, doesn’t let the outrage show on his face. “Of course.”

Cahrun claps his hands together, grinning. “Marvelous. Let’s get you back to your cell so you can rest. You have a big day tomorrow.”

Shiro doesn’t sleep well that night.

Every time he tries, he wakes up in a cold sweat from half-remembered dreams of the Arena, dreams spattered with all shades of blood, soundtracked by the screams of dozens of aliens, _people_ , he’d killed in his time there. Eventually he doesn’t bother trying to get back to sleep, just sits in the corner of his cell with his arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees and waits.

It’s a relief when the door down the hall opens and Shiro hears the sound of footsteps, Cahrun flanked by guards.

“Good morning, little Champion. Let’s get going, shall we?”

The cell door opens, and the guards step in, one holding a control stick at the ready, and the other a set of heavy cuffs and an inhibitor band.

“Don’t make this difficult. I shouldn’t have to remind you what’s at risk.”

Shiro gets up, all the fight gone out of him, and holds his arms out to be restrained.

He’d promised himself when he first got out that he’d never go back, that he’d rather die than have to fight again for the Galra, but there’s too much at stake. Allura’s too important to the resistance, and if there’s even the slightest chance that he’ll actually let her go-

The guards get the cuffs and inhibitor band onto him and grab his arms. Cahrun’s smile grows. “Just one more thing. Purely a precaution, you understand.”

Shiro’s taking a step back before he even fully registers what Cahrun’s holding, but the guards’ grip on his arms tightens, holding him fast as Cahrun fits the muzzle over his face, tightening the straps, and Shiro’s heart picks up speed, his pulse hammering in his ears.

“Take him to the shuttle and secure him. I’ll be there shortly.”

As he’s being led down the hall he can hear Allura calling his name, threaded with panic, and he wants to call back, to say goodbye, but even if the muzzle wasn’t on, he can’t find his voice; the keen edge of terror chokes him, strangling his words and turning his mind to static. He comes back to himself as they’re strapping him into a bench seat in the back of the shuttle, anchoring his cuffs to an attachment point on the wall above him.

Cahrun boards, pats Shiro’s arm as he passes with a grin, but Shiro barely twitches in response. His mind is skittering off again, denying what Shiro knows is happening, what’s going to happen.

They’re going to go to one of the hubs. Cahrun will send him back to the Arena. He’ll have to fight, to kill or be killed, and he’ll never see any of the others again. But they’ll be safe. Allura will be safe.

He hopes.

His breaths come shallow and quick, his pulse racing, thundering in his ears, and he has to rest his head against one of his upraised arms. He’s trying to keep the panic at bay but the engines thrum to life, the whole shuttle jostling gently as it starts to rise, and the panic floods back, choking him, strangling him, and he can’t- he _can’t-_

His chest burns with the need for air, but he can’t draw breath past the terror, past the muzzle stifling him, and he knows what a panic attack is, he’s had plenty of them, but _this-_ there’s a real threat, _actual_ danger, and despite the fact he knows rationally there’s nothing he can do, that doesn’t mean anything to his hindbrain which is intent on _freaking the fuck out_.

He’s so inwardly focused he almost misses it when the whole shuttle lurches to the side, throwing him against the straps across his midsection and pulling with bruising force at his cuffed wrists before throwing him back. He sees stars as the back of his head impacts the side of the shuttle.

There’s the scream of rending metal as the shuttle door across from Shiro is kicked in, knocked almost entirely off its hinges, and Shiro has a flash of panic. Instead of the expected blackness of space on the other side, he sees the familiar interior of the mouth of a Lion, and there, framed in the doorway is someone who shouldn’t be there.

His slurred, “‘lura?” is swallowed by the muzzle, but there’s no mistaking her as she strides into the shuttle’s hold, her already stormy expression turning murderous as she catches sight of him. He struggles to stay awake, but his head pulses with pain, and his last thought before his vision blacks out completely is _not again_.

***

Everything’s quiet, and he’s laying on something soft.

When he cracks his eyes open there’s a swell of relief as he sees the dull blue of the Castle’s medbay instead of vibrant purple.

He sits up and braces for discomfort that never comes; his head feels muzzy with sleep, his limbs similarly heavy, but for the first time in days they’re not strained, not painful.

“Shiro?”

He blinks, turning toward the voice, and sags back against the pillows under him.

“Allura, you’re okay.”

She tilts her head at him, curious as she approaches and sits in a chair next to his bedside. “I am, yes, but why wouldn’t I be?”

“He- Cahrun didn’t hurt you?”

Allura’s features cloud at the mention of the Crevadi’s name. “No, he did not; he won’t be hurting _you_ anymore, either.” She reaches over and takes Shiro’s hand. “From what Pidge and Hunk have been telling me, I can see why there may be confusion. When you left the Castle a little over a week ago, we thought your shuttle crashed, that you were lost. We were fed readings and audio of the crash as it was supposedly happening. We briefly thought that you were dead.”

Shiro sits there, stunned. “No, but- you were _there_ , Allura, I _heard_ you.”

Allura squeezes his hand, and her smile is kind when she asks, “Shiro, do you recall what we were negotiating with the Crevadi for?”

His thoughts are still sluggish, but after a moment, he says, “Technology? Something with data analysis and extraction?”

“Something like that, yes. It’s technology that we hope will be helpful against the Galra because among other things it can take a few points of data and extrapolate them out, filling in where intel may be lacking, or give us an idea where to look for things.”

Shiro nods. That part he remembers, though he knows he wasn’t paying a great deal of attention to how it worked in the briefings.

“It turns out the Crevadi that invented that technology was Cahrun.”

Shiro’s blood goes cold at the mention of his name, but Allura reaches up and gently cups the side of his face with her free hand. “It’s alright, Shiro, he’s in custody right now. His people knew he’d been with the Galra for a period of time, but they thought he was a prisoner, not a sympathizer. We contacted Matt Holt to tell him what happened, but when he heard Cahrun’s name he suggested we look further before accepting anything he told us at face value. I’m very glad we did. A few days later, Pidge found discrepancies in the readings. We went to the Crevadi authorities and we were able to locate his facility where he was holding you, but the shuttle you were on had just lifted off. Keith flew me up and we intercepted; I’m sorry that it was a bit rougher than anticipated. We hadn’t intended for you to be injured in the process. How are you feeling now, Shiro?”

“Surprisingly good, but I’m still unclear on how I was hearing you.”

“Ah yes, that. He was able to record some of my reactions when I thought you were crashing, and used the technology he’d invented to produce audio of my voice without me there. I’m assuming you never actually saw me?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I only ever heard you. He told me that if I didn’t obey, he’d hurt you, make you his new project.”

“ _New_ project?” Allura’s eyes narrow. “You’ve met him before?”

“Yes.” Shiro pulls his hand back from Allura’s, withdrawing in on himself. “He was one of the handlers at the Arena. He oversaw some of my...training.”

Allura’s quiet, but he can see her jaw tighten. “I _knew_ I should have hit him more.”

Shiro snorts, running a hand through his hair. “He said if I went with him willingly to fight again, he’d let you go, but you weren’t even there.”

“The Crevadi are holding him accountable for what he’s done, both recently and while he was with the Galra. His technology doesn’t outweigh the evil of his deeds.”

“That’s-” Shiro takes an unsteady breath and lets it out. “That’s good.”

Allura pats his hand, smiling as she gets up. “Why don’t you get some more rest for now? We’ll catch you up on everything else that’s been going on after you’ve slept.”

Shiro settles back down as Allura leaves, pulling his blanket up and nestling into the pillows, and for the first time in over a week nods off to sleep feeling warm and safe.


End file.
